I was walking on the side of the highway. It was dark. I had been going somewhere, but that place was closed for the night, and I was nearing exhaustion. It was cold and empty outside, the stars stretched flat and blank over the world. Snow was falling. Clearly, this wasn't Texas, or at least not my part of it; snow rarely falls in the Hill Country, and never as thick as it was doing now - thick clumps that covered the mouth of the world in a white, muffled hand.

I needed a place to sleep. I was exhausted, and I could feel it, and knew I looked it. There were no buildings for miles, and my legs began to feel like rubber, so I hoisted myself into the arms of a black, thick gangly tree, swung my legs around the trunk, and hugged it. I closed my eyes. I began to drift off. Then I heard a dark voice. It was calm, but it made my eyes shoot open. I looked around to see where it was coming from, and an explosion of red against the snow on the hillside made me jump.

There was a twisted rosebush near me.

I couldn't think why I didn't notice it before. The bush was enormous, a festoon of roses, all the same deep red-blood color, the color of a gripped heart, the color of laughing lips.

It was an innocent-enough looking plant, but there was a red balloon tied to one leaf. Bright, unearthly bright, like it had just been tied there, and straining against the bonds of gravity. It was merrily bouncing as snow softly sighed against it.

I remember the roots of the rosebush against the snow. They were black. Black and dark and tangled, like brains or snakes. And beneath the roots was a hole. And the hole was glowing. It was a peculiar light - not electric; it didn't have that florescent cast or effect. It rose and fell, it chattered red and orange and yellow against the snow; the snow also melted around the hole, strange blue drops licked the roses and fell with a sizzle in the snowbank around it. There was a fire in the rosebush.

As I watched, the voice spoke again. Or maybe it had been speaking the whole time. It was a man's voice, but it was high, shivery, pleasant, disgusting, ludicrous, beautiful, like a dove caught in a wire fence, or a spider bearing down on a gorgeous moth - "Come inside."

A hundred balloons floated out of the hole and were tangled in the rosebush. They all popped and the voice rose to a dirty violin frenzy - "Come insiiiiiide." A cat's whine, crawling over the snow. Something was skittering over my feet. I woke up, and my heart was pounding.

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